


Of Wolves and Burdocks

by anotherbird



Series: The Path [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Apologies, Betaed, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, Making Up, Minor Book Spoilers, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherbird/pseuds/anotherbird
Summary: Geralt had learned the hard way not to have any expectations. So of course he did not expect to find Jaskier waiting for him, when he made his way down the mountain top.Neither did he anticipate Jaskier remaining quiet the whole way down that mountain.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Path [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749103
Comments: 24
Kudos: 484





	Of Wolves and Burdocks

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the Netflix show canon, but whenever I write Geralt I have his book and game versions in mind, too and that can be noticeable in his characterisation.  
> There's also some mentioning of Geralt/Yen in this fic and it's always in a positive way. Just as a heads up in case you don't like this.
> 
> Biggest thanks again to my beta [Scrambled Still](https://twitter.com/ScrambledStill) (who also makes AMAZING art you should really check out)!

Being alone was nothing new to Geralt. It was a habit of sorts. It was the safer way and the way it was meant to be after all. A witcher's way. It had been his own fault that he had allowed himself to be drawn into other people's messes. That he got other people into his messes. That he had dared to challenge Destiny. 

He should've known better.

This child of surprise of his was surely better off without him, Death was always too close on his heels.That was his only destiny. After all, no witcher had ever died in his bed. And what was he supposed to do with a child anyway? Did he really want any child growing up to be a witcher? An outcast, a means to an end? A weapon forged by gruesome trials that haunted every witcher’s nightmares?

Geralt sighed and watched the sun slowly creep its way around the mountain. Listened to the wind and the countless animals unseen. He meditated to rest from the fight with the reavers, then checked his provisions until dusk, the sun bathing the world in a warm orange glow. He shouldn't linger here for too long. The cadaver of the dragon and the bodies of the reavers would attract critters and necrophages soon enough and he had no intention of dealing with a hungry pack of ghouls. Flies were already there and Geralt could hear their constant excited buzzing. There were worse things on this mountain than ghouls, if he had read the signs right on their way up here and he had already lost too much time. Travelling in the dark wasn't a good idea here.

He stood up, stretched himself and made a face.

_ You look like a cat, when you do that. _

_ Do what? _

_ When you get up, you stretch yourself like a cat. Like this. Do you witchers purr? Because that would make a great story. You have the eyes and the sense of smell. It would be poetic in a way. _

No time for memories like that. With a sigh he grabbed his swords and the bag with his provisions and headed towards their late camp - there wasn't much left of it, the remains of a fire, the burned bones of a sorry poultice and on a boulder sitting in the sun looking forlorn...

"Jaskier." Geralt stated bluntly and Jaskier's head shot up from whatever he was writing in his journal.

The bard turned around, as he put his book down. He looked a little disheveled. The red leather doublet was dusty, the hair unruly due to the wind. He had grown a slight stubble over the last few days of travel. His appearance was accompanied by a look of total disdain and disappointment.   
Then he stood up and threw his lute, safely sheltered in her bag, over his shoulder. The lute, a bedroll and a waterskin was all he seemed to be carrying. 

"The dwarves -" Jaskier began, no longer even looking at him as he straightened his jacket, then dusted some dirt off his trousers. "- have left without me. Went for some dwarven mountain path apparently not made for humans. Or they just wanted to get rid of me. " He made a face. "And they took my provisions." He crossed his arms.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, took in Jaskier's defensive stance. He fought an unhelpful smirk. "Your only provision was a bottle of Est Est you stole from Dudu, when we were in Novigrad."

"Yes. And they took it." Jaskier cleared his throat, put his hands on his hips and looked him in the eye now, almost challenging. "And I didn't steal it. I won it. Fair and square. "

"We spoke 4 hours ago. You sat here for the last 4 hours and waited for me?" Geralt uselessly gestured toward the camp remains.

"I wasn't waiting for  _ you _ but a safe way through the wilderness. You just happened to be that way."

"You are angry,"

"And you -" Jaskier straightened his shoulders and pulled his chin up. "- have a real tendency of stating the obvious. But I can assure you that I will be quiet the whole way down. You will only have to bear my humble presence for those remaining three days and will be rid of me for good, when we reach Roach and Pegasus."

Geralt only snorted at that. Jaskier didn't know how to be quiet even if his life depended on it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

For the first hour the presence of another being in silence was comfortable. It reminded Geralt of the times he’d gone hunting with Eskel. They were good at being quiet together. (Which was very different with Lambert because they couldn't stand each other for a longer period of time without bickering and that was part of the fun of it). Yen and him could be comfortably silent too. But then again she could just see into his head whenever she felt like it, so maybe silence hadn't been the right word for that.

Being quiet with Jaskier though, that was new. Usually he was constantly chattering. And if he wasn't talking to Geralt he was talking to himself. And if he wasn't talking, he was singing or humming or mumbling or whistling or strumming his lute, because he liked his own voice and Geralt liked the noise even if he only begrudgingly could admit it and would never say it out loud, because he knew full well it would just get to the bard's head and then he would never shut up about it, even at times when he really should.

Jaskier being quiet never was a conscious decision, only a consequence of sickness or sleep (and sometimes he even muttered in his sleep). He was never brooding. Or tense. He was usually the one filling the air. The one striking up a conversion Geralt would pretend not to be interested in. Asking him questions, asking him for opinions, stating his own opinions even if not asked for them. He had the tendency to make Geralt talk.

But this.

This was new.

Geralt was convinced the silence wouldn't last for more than two hours. That Jaskier would eventually start to spill his guts and ramble, so he decided to enjoy the quiet while it lasted, to put off the inevitable. 

But Jaskied stayed silent. The lute was kept in her case. The only thing to be heard were their footsteps, the nature around them and a single curse under the bard’s breath, when he almost lost his footing on the mountain pass and would have fallen, had Geralt not caught him by the arm in time. It was... unnerving. 

Irritating. 

It started to really annoy him when they stopped to camp for the night. Usually Jaskier would compose now, sing an amusing bawdy song about the private parts of princelings or tavern wenches or both while Geralt prepared the fire.

But again: silence. Not a thank you when Geralt handed him some dry bread and old salty cheese he carried with him.

The only noise remained the fire eating up the dry wood, Jaskier's chewing and the sounds of the forest around them. A pair of crows cawed above them. The birds had been following them since they had left the mountain top and reached the woods, eager to scavenge for their leftovers probably. The forest was teeming with life. It was the fire that kept some of the creatures out there at bay. They weren't welcome here. If Geralt were alone, he wouldn't have stopped for the night not able to sleep here anyway..

Geralt took a bite from an apple, made a face at the too tangy taste and watched Jaskier near the fire who just kept staring into the flames, his face hard to read. Fatigue. Tension. The smoke from the fire made his eyes water a little and the smell of it would linger on him for the next couple of days, until he found a bathhouse. Geralt watched him long enough that it crossed the border of staring, but Jaskier didn't look up once, just the muscles of his jaw got tense as he was grinding his teeth ignoring him.

Still, not a single word.

Geralt cleared his throat and tossed the half eaten apple into the brushwood. He had lost his appetite.

"Had a contract at the seaside last spring. Bremervoord." Geralt blurted out after a while. "Some lordling had a dispute with his lover, who turned out to be a siren."

He could see Jaskier's head move a little, but that was the only reaction Geralt got. Jaskier’s eyes remained fixed on the fire. Usually he would have taken out his notebook now and start to ask him for details. It was the perfect content for one of his ballads. He would find the best way to twist the truth enough to make it seem like a fairytale about star-crossed lovers. The very moment Geralt had completed the contract he had already thought about how he would tell Jaskier, how he would love it. Had tried to keep as many details in mind as possible to be able to answer every question.The colour of the siren’s scales, their exact words. It had mostly been a petty fight between lovers but Jaskier would know how to change it enough to leave his listeners in awe and in tears about a little mermaid with a broken heart and no voice.

But he didn't ask. He just sat there nibbling on the cheese, sloshing it down with a gulp of bad wine and watched the flames of the fire. 

"He wanted her to change her fin for legs for him and she wanted him to give up breathing for her I was only hired because I could understand her."

Geralt noticed a small movement, slightly raised eyebrows. 

"I never thought I would need it. Won't tell Vesemir that he was right, I'd never hear the end of it." 

Usually Jaskier wouldn't have ignored something like that. Would have used the occasion to drill him with questions about Kaer Morhen. About Vesemir. His brothers.

_ So you had to learn monster speak? _

But again he remained quiet.

"Sirens use a sung form of Elder Speech. Knowing a few dialects may help resolve conflicts without using a sword.."

_ Look at you. The Witcher who claims to has no heart and no friends. _

Jaskier said none of it, though. Not a single word had left his lips. He had instead started to poke at the burning logs with a stick.

Then he got up, put down his bedroll and lay down on it, his back turned towards Geralt.

Maybe he should just apologize. Say he was sorry.

Probably. 

But how to even begin? How to find the right words instead of all the wrong ones? He had counted on Jaskier throwing him a bone, giving him an open door, the right path he only had to step onto. Have him say something he could pick up from. Real anger, the fiery and loud kind would've been much easier than this silent treatment that felt so out of character, it irked him more than the presence of the creatures in the woods around them.

Geralt made himself comfortable against a pine tree trunk, the bark sticky with resin but the ground soft with dry needles. His swords within easy reach, both ones, so he could grab them fast, if need be. He closed his eyes, tried to relax. He had no intention of sleeping. Not in these woods, not with a vulnerable companion. He waited until Jaskier's tense breathing turned more natural and his heart rate had slowed down, until breathing turned into a soft well known snoring that was somehow more comforting than he dared admit. He heard the crows above them and silent predators circling their camp, watching them.

When sunrise came and Jaskier stirred awake, Geralt hadn't slept. He had spent the night either in meditation, light slumber or being awake listening to Jaskier's soft snoring.

The next morning began just like previous day had ended. There was no Good Morning and barely an acknowledging nod when Geralt mentioned a freshwater stream he had spotted on their way up. Jaskier continued his silent treatment and Geralt started something he never had done before. 

He started to fill the silence.

He talked about flowers he saw along the way, buttercups, dandelions, larkspur and their different uses in potions. Pointed out tracks along their way, hints of animals that lived around here.

Geralt noticed wolves, always close to the marks they had left behind on their way up the mountain like they had been stalked. There was a territory marking by a Chort, but it was already two weeks old so he didn't mention that to Jaskier. That was a beast he could deal with should the need arise.

So he kept... rambling nonsense. Filled the air with empty words about everything and nothing.

He talked about how he had met the druid Mousesack during the plague, adding a comment about how Skellige druids didn't care much for celibacy vows and the Jaskier in his mind obviously would have taken notice of that and asked him to elaborate, but the real Jaskier remained quiet, just raised his eyebrows and kicked a loose little stone into the brushwood. 

There were topics Geralt avoided in his monologue. Yen. His child of surprise. Him being an absolute fool.

The day went by with a silent bard and a chatty witcher and the crows still followed them deeper into the woods, curious watchers, and Geralt caught himself wondering, if they were laughing about his ridiculous and futile attempts of breaking the brooding silence that Jaskier was wearing like one of his expensive tunics.

Sometimes Geralt tried to keep quiet himself, reverting to his usual stoic demeanor to give Jaskier a chance to pick up the talking again, but it seemed Jaskier was much more stubborn than he was and much better at reaching his self set goals. All it led to was Geralt being alone with his own nagging thoughts, the sounds of nature around them and Jaskier's deafening silence that made his fingers twitch and his insides churn. 

It wore him down. More than the hours of walking and the dreading feeling of being stalked by something, more than the warnings about dangers in these woods and the upcoming rain that the air was already heavy with and that would greet them tomorrow. More than the lack of sleep.

It was like missing Yen or thinking about his child of surprise, something dooming and looming over him, but much closer. Like he could touch it. Maybe that was the worst thing about it. He couldn't talk to Yen now, couldn't magically teleport himself to Cintra. Both problems were out of his hands right here and now, but Jaskier's silence was right in front of him. He knew exactly that he had been the one who caused it and in a way that was worse. Because he was the one who could change this, if he only had the right words. Jaskier had them. The words. Too many of them at inopportune times maybe, but he knew what to say when it mattered. Geralt was nothing more than a blunt axe where he was a sharp stiletto.

Just like the day before they walked until sunset. Until darkness fell upon them and they found a clearing not far from a branch of the stream they had used to wash themselves this morning. They put up a fireplace and Geralt ignited the logs with igni, waited until the flames had grown into a cozy bright fire.

"I'm going to hunt us something to eat. Don't stray away too far from the fire, I don't trust these woods." Geralt threw a wary glance towards the crows above them. They had not been left alone by the birds, instead there were four of them now. As suspected, Jaskier didn't react, just made himself comfortable on a tree stump next to the fire. It wasn't unusual for them, Geralt venturing out to hunt while Jaskier stayed behind to look after their things, usually using the time to care for Roach and Pegasus (which meant spoiling them rotten), but it felt different now. Strange.

The forest almost swallowed him when he stepped between the trees and the light of the fire soon became a faint glow and then disappeared completely. He heard the flapping of wings above him, feathery and leathery, birds and bats. His eyes got accustomed to the darkness quickly, worked well with the remnants of moonlight that were able to pierce the roof of leaves above him. He smelled the pine trees and the mossy ground, the resin of the trees and something else. Fur. Wolves. He felt stalked, like prey. It raised his hackles, like there were eyes on him. Lingering here wasn't a good idea.

He tried to make it as quick as possible. Waited. Listened for the critters to come out of their hiding places and feel safe in his presence. He ended up killing two young rabbits, calmed them with Axii and killed them with his crossbow, fast and painless.

The feeling of being watched accompanied him back to their little camp, but left his mind quickly when he heard the well known notes of a lute and a voice he had been missing for far too many hours now.

Geralt knew the melody already. Jaskier had been composing this song for the last week and had asked for his opinions several times. About the words and the melody, even though Geralt knew nothing about music or art or about what people wanted to hear. It was full of sorrow, regret, desire. Geralt lingered just outside of the ring of light of the campfire , leaned against a tree and just allowed himself to listen for a bit. Jaskier was still composing it. Started several times, changed the notes and words around, stopped and could be heard scribbling in his notebook - something he would only part with over his dead body as Geralt had heard him claim on several occasions. He would have loved to remain hidden longer instead of disturbing Jaskier, but he had to skin and roast the rabbits, that were already attracting hungry wildlife.

The music stopped the moment Geralt made himself known, when he stepped onto the clearing. Jaskier froze as if caught doing something forbidden. As if Geralt didn't know that it must've cost him a great deal of restraint, to not touch his lute for such a long time.

"You don't have to stop because of me." Geralt leaned his swords against a tree and headed for the fire. He laid the rabbits down and unsheathed his hunting knife to prepare them for the roast.

The look Jaskier gave him was sharp as a dagger as he put his lute back in her case.

"It's a good - " Geralt tried to concentrate on his bloody task at hand and not look over to Jaskier over the fire. "- song." He dared to look up for a moment.

That sounded ridiculous. Jaskier seemed to think so too, he stared at him in annoyed disbelief, his lips a thin impatient line and and one eyebrow slightly raised. It made Geralt feel like an idiot. He went back to preparing their meal in silence, putting the rabbits over the fire. He watched as blood and grease dropped into the fire, creating smoke that made his stomach rumble.  It wasn't a feast, just enough to allay their hunger. They usually would have  **made** it a feast. Jaskier was a good actor, could pretend like they were eating fawn on a king's table instead of unseasoned rabbit. They would both get a little too drunk with mahakam schnaps and Jaskier would call him Sir Ravix of Fourhorn the entire evening and Geralt called him Viscount de Lettenhove, until they were giggling and tired with tears in their eyes from laughter. For a moment Geralt got so lost in the thought that he started smiling to himself and was taken aback, when he found Jaskier eyeing him in irritation and his heart fell again and he swallowed hard.

And the evening passed with as much one sided talking as the last one.

#

When Geralt got up the next day, he felt exhausted and grouchy. Old. He longed for a lonesome road, alone with Roach and being rid of this situation that he couldn't escape from. He felt trapped. In his mind. In these woods. In this world. He grew less patient with Jaskier's behaviour, fully aware that he was only making it worse, when all he wanted to do was making it better. The closer they got to their horses and therefore the closer they got to parting, the thinner his patience grew.

And the constant cawing of the crows - six now - wasn't helping either.

Neither were the pawprints around the clearing and the lingering smell of wolf piss, he found. The prints followed his own hunting path into the forest from the other night and made him shiver. That wasn't usual canine behaviour. That wasn't hunting. They were being watched by ... something. He felt dread and nausea at the thought.

Not far from their resting place, they found their own old camp and it was permeated by the smell of rotting flesh. The corpse of young Eyck from Denesle was still there and picked apart by scavengers, but that wasn't the unusual thing about it.The decaying body was lanced by roots, strong and old ones, like he had been laying here for months or years even, not a couple of days.

Geralt shivered and looked up to the crows above them.

"I don't like this." He muttered, more to himself than to his companion, who turned his eyes away from the rather gruesome sight.

They continued on their way. The wind had picked up, heavy with the foreboding of rain and Geralt tried to quicken their pace, even though he knew Jaskier would tire out eventually. Maybe there was a slight chance they would still reach the end of the path before nightfall, but that was more wishful thinking. They could never reach their goal fast enough and if Geralt was right about what was following them, they needed a safe place for the night.

It was another body, a couple hours later that made Geralt stop in his tracks and grab Jaskier by the arm, harsher than intended. 

"Wait"

Jaskier's annoyed "What?" was the first thing he had said in three days. Probably more uttered in the heat of the moment he bit his lip and rolled his eyes about himself, but Geralt had no time for this. Letting go of his arm he pointed at something that at first glance appeared to be just another tree. They slowly approached it. Inside the twisted old looking branches was a man, one of the reavers. He had probably fled the fight against the dragon instead of taking part in it but had found his death here. It was a terrible sight to behold. He couldn't have been dead for more than a day, maybe two. The stench of blood was still sharp. 

"What happened to him?" Jaskier whispered carefully beside him, anger momentarily forgotten.

"A Leshen." 

Geralt had dealt with these creatures only once and it had been a young one. They were extremely powerful and this one probably didn't take the invasion of their hunting party into its territory very well.

"I thought they were just a legend." Jaskier stared at the twisted roots that had taken hold of the young man's decaying body. Geralt knelt down next to the corpse. Above them crows were cawing. It sounded like ugly laughter. Wolf tracks could be seen on the soft ground. Deep and fresh. A tuft of canine hair stuck to one of the roots, that wound out of the ground. Geralt could still smell the predator's scent.

"They aren’t. And this one is angry. And ancient. We need a shelter for the night. It's not safe out here."

"And where do you think, will we find shelter in the middle of nowhere?"

Geralt turned around to look at the annoyed bard. Breaking his angry vow of silence in the heat of the moment seemed to have soured his mood severely. This was easier. Well-known territory.

The hunt.

Being hunted. 

"There used to be cavetrolls in this region. Maybe we can find one of their lairs."

"Or we could run into an angry troll that isn't happy about us breaking and entering."

Geralt snorted, amused at Jaskier’s sulky expression. 

"Then maybe we have to share. Too bad the dwarves stole your Est Est. Trolls have a real taste for wine and song. You would get along just fine."

He could see the struggle on Jaskier's face, his resistance faltering and he laughed before he could stop himself. 

"You - " He pointed at Geralt. "- are something else. Let's go. I don't want to end up as forest decoration."

#

"And those ... Leshens don't enter caves?" Jaskier was obviously nervous, eyes flitting back and forth between the fire Geralt was preparing and the cave entry that offered a view into the dark forest. It had started to rain heavily while they had been still searching for shelter. Now the usual afternoon sun was hidden behind the heavy clouds of a thunderstorm. 

The cave had been the lair of a cavetroll, the stench undeniably still there, even Jaskier could still smell it, even though the inhabitant must have been long gone. Geralt did not bemoan the absence in the least. A discussion with a troll could be a tiresome matter and they weren't always hospitable and sometimes easy to anger. 

"Leshen don't set foot underground. At least not personally." He wasn’t sure if the same could be said for their thralls. An ancient Leshen could send wolves and other creatures after them which likely weren’t stopped by caves and mountains.

Geralt leaned against a wall of the cave, his feet close to the fire to dry his boots. His leather armor had held off most of the wetness, but Jaskier who huddled close to the fire was rather drenched. It was a sorry sight. 

They fell into an uneasy silence now that the immediate threat seemed farther way. 

“So you found your voice again?” Geralt said after what felt like an eternity, eyes fixed on the fire. He immediately heard Jaskier huff.

“Seriously?”The bard rose to his feet, hands on his hips, shaking his head vividly. “This is what you have to say? You know what? Maybe I should get out there and look for this Leshen, because it certainly can’t be worse than a Witcher who lashes out at those who care about him and can’t even apologize afterwards.”

“That would be very dramatic.”

“Considering that you claimed _ I  _ was responsible for everything in your life including a child of surprise and being bound to a megalomaniac sorceress like I was destiny herself, I don’t think that I am the dramatic one.”

Geralt’s own words echoed in his ears, accusations that were as unfounded as they were hurtful. Jaskier was rightfully angry at him. Yen was justified in her anger at him for taking a choice from her and binding their fates together, when she craved freedom and choice more than anything else. 

Suddenly all he felt was fatigue and defeat. He pulled his eyes from Jaskier’s and watched the pouring rain outside. 

“It was easier to blame you than blame Destiny.” He returned his gaze to Jaskier who still stood there hands on his hips and glaring at him. “She never listened to me anyway. And she is vengeful.”

“Well, maybe I was sent by her to torture you.” Jaskier’s anger was slowly fading, the tension vanishing from his posture as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

“No, you're not here because you are meant to be or because you're bound to me. It's your choice. You chose me."

Jaskier snorted and shook his head, his tired smile mirroring Geralt’s.

"Very poetic.The flower that stuck to the lonesome wolf's pelt, when he wandered the fields of Dol Blathanna."

"Maybe a burdock he accidentally stepped on and wasn’t able to get off since.”

Jaskier glared at him, but wasn't able to fight the amusement that was now clearly written on his face.

"What I mean to say is. I'm sorry for what I said to you. I am the one who constantly meddles with destiny. It wasn't you who made me claim the law of surprise or who made the last wish."

Silence fell over them again, charged with hope and expectations and Jaskier took his sweet time to react. He just stood there for a while, watched Geralt tilting his head from one side to the other, contemplating. Wordlessly he went for the bag with Geralt’s provisions and started rummaging around in them, until he found the bottle of mahakam mead Yarpen Zigrin had given him over the campfire one evening. He uncorked the bottle, took a sniff and eventually sauntered over to Geralt and lowered himself to the ground next to him smelling like smoke, rain, honey and lemon.

“Apology accepted.” Jaskier took a mouthful from the bottle and made a face, before offering it to Geralt. He leaned against the wall behind them, close enough that their arms were comfortably touching, warm and well-known. Geralt smiled to himself. 

“I’m not the only one you should apologize to, you know.”

Geralt frowned as Jaskier stole the bottle back from him, took another sip and put it away, now that their bellies were warm from the sweet beverage. Jaskier was slightly shivering from the damp cold clothes and huddled a little closer.

"Jaskier, I'm ..."

"Spare me the ridiculous" The bard deepened his voice, until it was as mocking as it was hoarse "'I'm a big bad Witcher, I don't have any feelings.'-" He returned to his own intonation. "- Talk. I've been travelling with you for 20 years. You probably have more feelings than me and I have a whole lot. If you had no feelings, you would just go and get your child of surprise and drag it to your mysterious fortress in the Blue Mountains."

"Calanthe would have my head."

"Now wouldn’t that be a sight to behold." Jaskier chuckled. “If I’m not mistaken you have allies in Cintra. Borch was right, You are missing something. You can’t keep avoiding this child. You can’t cheat destiny. And there is a sorceress out there, who you could ask for help.”

“I was under the impression you weren’t all to happy with my…” Geralt stopped himself and watched the flames dance in front of them. 

"Geralt, I don't expect you to give up on her. The heart wants what it wants. And it can want several things at once, trust me. A blind man can see that you love her and that she loves you. Would you expect me to bind myself to you, settle down in a nice cottage at the sea, chained to one place and one person?”

Geralt smiled. “No.” Despite the rain and the stalking Leshen out in the woods , despite destiny and being soaked he felt warm. At ease. Calm. Jaskier’s head was resting against his shoulder. This was comfortable. Familiar. A warm body next to his.

They stayed like this for a while, motionless at first, until Jaskier began to stir. At first it was a hand that grabbed his, fingers interlacing, then a wandering hand on his thigh. Familiar. Geralt laughed under his breath as Jaskier moved beside him to reach his neck first and finally catch his lips in a kiss that was full of longing, borderline desperate and everything but reluctant.

Familiar. 

“You really want to do this now.” He was barely able to mumble between kisses, more a low grumble than real words, 

“Don't know why you think I wouldn't.” Jaskier stopped long enough to shrug out of the damp jacket, closely followed by the linen shirt he was wearing underneath. He put it close to the fire to dry and was back with Geralt almost in an instant . 

“Because there is an ancient Leshen outside of this cave that is not happy that we are here.”

“You said they don't venture under the earth. Are you shy around monsters?”

“Not funny.”

“You don't want to?”

“I didn't say that.”

“I thought about it. A lot.”

“When?”

“The whole time.”

“While you were angry at me?”

“Yes. Especially when I was angry at you. Can't believe you didn't notice.”

“I was distracted.”.

“By your own voice?”

Geralt only glared at him in return.

"Geralt?"

"What?"

Jaskier wasn't shy. Never was. Never hesitated . He sat on Geralt’s thighs with such a self-assured confidence that it was baffling sometimes. It should have stopped surprising him ages ago, but never failed to mesmerize him. 

"Shut up."

It was easy. Much easier than the talking and apologizing and the silent treatment. It was well-known territory. Something they had started to share many years ago in Oxenfurt. Geralt had never felt the need to give it a name, just knew that he wasn't willing to lose it. Grown fond of this. Got used to it. He would never claim that this was only his. It was a shared bath in an inn and sharing warmth on cold nights on the road.

He knew his smell and his taste and the skilled and eager way Jaskier kissed, always humming something under his breath. The impatience of Jaskier when he tried to rid him of his leathers and the complete lack of care for their surroundings even now in this cursed forest.. He knew all those small noises and the far too loud ones, the heat and the appetite.

He knew the exploring touches of his fingers, the hoarse intonation of his own name. After all this time they both knew every inch of their bodies. There were no surprises anymore, not really. And with a life like he had Geralt craved familiarity.

He didn’t need anymore surprises. He never knew what would happen to him tomorrow. What destiny would have in store for him this time. He was fine with something steady. Unchanging. Something or someone untouched by magic and destiny.

He knew the smell afterwards, when their scents had become one, musky and sweaty, when their breathing was slowing again and their heartbeats too. There would always be a silence, but a familiar one. He knew the way Jaskier still touched him lazily, sometimes asked about a scar that hadn't been there the last time.

Comforting rituals.

"You could have looked for a cave with its own well." Jaskier murmured against his neck, barely audible and it made Geralt snort. They were still entangled with one another. Sticky and sweaty and Geralt knew that Jaskier was torn between staying like this until his fatigue would overwhelm him and getting up to clean himself up- which was the better idea.

But he went for a third option that was entirely unexpected .

As if suddenly possessed, he jumped up and went for his lute case, got out his notebook and pen and started scribbling, not caring for the cold of the cave or for being still naked like the day he was born. 

Geralt sat up and watched him for a while in silence. How Jaskier concentrated on the words, the fire dancing before him. Geralt liked the sight. Even when Geralt got up, to clean up and dress himself, he kept writing.

"What are you working on?" Geralt retrieved his pipe and some carefully hidden tobacco from his bag and settled down on his former place. He lit it carefully with Igni and the smell of sweet smoke filled the cave. 

Jaskier didn't stop writing for a moment, didn't even flinch. The fire drew dancing lights onto his face, made every line look deeper.He seemed older like this, the stubble on his face darker. Raw. 

"My Magnum Opus."

Geralt raised an eyebrow and puffed out a ring of smoke that vanished quickly.

"And what would that be?" 

"How the wolf saves the lion cub in the woods of Brokilon, not knowing that the cub is his destiny."

"That's not what happened. And no one just _ leaves _ Brokilon. Especially no man."

"But maybe it will happen. And art doesn't have to be true."

"And what is it called? Your ‘magnum opus’?” Geralt tried not to sound too mocking, but Jaskier appeared unfazed.

“The Lion Cub of Cintra.”

#

Geralt had not meant to fall asleep and when he awoke to the sound of birdsong it took him a while to gather his bearings. Jaskier was still asleep, back in most of his clothes, but clinging onto Geralt. He was snoring peacefully. Geralt looked around, blinked a few times against the light and froze.They weren’t alone any longer. Next to the burnt down cinder of their fire stood someone. The creature looked like ... a child. Young and old. A face full of mischief and wisdom. From its height it could have been mistaken for a human child, but its skin was a muddy forest green and the eyes unnaturally huge yellow. It wore a wolf pelt as a form of dressing. The mossy hair was brown like the bark of a pine. The creature squinted at them and tilted their head in what could be curiosity. 

Geralt sat up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, not to have his eyes wander towards his swords, kept them fixed on the childlike creature instead. He gently shook Jaskier awake, who jerked upwards, but froze, when he spotted the being close to them. 

"Gwynbleidd." The creature's voice was childlike, but alien. More like the song birds outside than human.

"Cáed'mil." Geralt slowly greeted the creature and offered a smile. It wore a braided crown of cornflowers on its head.

"You were with the hunting party that went for the dragon hunt. We saw you heading upwards."

Next to him, Jaskier swallowed audibly. 

"Yes."

"But you are still alive." The melodic voice was curious now. "You're the one Villentretenmerth asked to come."

Geralt nodded. "We helped him. And the egg.”

The creature blinked and nodded.

"Are you a bucca?" Jaskier asked and the creature made a face like it had been mortally offended.

"No." Geralt shook his head and smiled softly. "You're a godling aren't you?"

The being smiled and puffed its chest.

"We heard your singing." The godling came closer, eyes fixed on Jaskier, then on his lute.It picked the instrument carefully from the floor. "This is elven work."

"It was a gift. Filavandrel gave it to me in Dol Blathanna. It is very dear to me."

The godling nodded again, excitedly and carefully placed the instrument back in her case.

"She doesn't like trespassers in her woods. "

"Who?" Geralt asked.

“She guards these forests and I can play with her wolves and crows.”

"We will leave."

“I will guide you, I told her so. I know a shorter path.” The godling smiled. “And maybe we can sing on the way.”

Geralt and Jaskier exchanged an amused and relieved glance. 

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be very happy to read your thoughts and hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you want to talk, find me on Tumblr [the-other-bird](http://the-other-bird.tumblr.com) or Twitter [@ItsAnotherBird](https://twitter.com/ItsAnotherBird)


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